


they're only gods, after all

by hakyeonni



Series: little incubus [15]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Beaches, M/M, Magic, Reunion Sex, Rituals, Warning: Taekwoon, a general melancholy vibe that can't be summed up by the angst tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 11:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12605500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakyeonni/pseuds/hakyeonni
Summary: surrounded by those who love him, hakyeon realises what he must sacrifice to end this, once and for all.





	they're only gods, after all

The moment the words leave Wonshik’s mouth there’s a rush of power that hits Sanghyuk like a truck—one moment it’s absent and the next it’s _there_ , overpowering his immortal senses with the scent of lavender and the rustling of feathers. It burns into him, that power, and when he opens his eyes again Taekwoon is standing there in the middle of the circle, his sword hanging limply at his side, his expression blank.

Except, no, that’s not right because before any of them have the time to process that there’s another rush of power and this—this is so familiar that Sanghyuk could recognise it in his sleep. Earthy power, bringing to mind moss and rainforests; he braces himself and manages to not stagger, this time, but his heart starts racing because this is _wrong_.

Jaehwan is standing there in the circle next to Taekwoon, his eyes wide with surprise, and there’s a glowing silver thread of light surrounding them all.

For a long, long moment no one moves an inch—but then Hakyeon takes a staggering step forward, his face lighting up from the inside out, and both the winged immortals turn their attention to him.

“Oh, fuck,” Hongbin blurts as Taekwoon raises his sword.

Inwardly, Sanghyuk agrees.

_back_

“Hang on—” Hongbin manages to grab Hakyeon as his legs give way from underneath him, although it’s no easy feat since he’s shaking like a leaf, getting water all over the floor. “Hyung, what do you mean—Sanghyuk, help me!”

Sanghyuk snaps out of his stupor and rushes to Hongbin’s side, helping to lift a wet and bedraggled Hakyeon onto the sofa. It’s like he’s taken drugs again, except this time Sanghyuk knows it’s pure exhilaration; he’s shaking and his pupils are blown wide, but he can’t stop smiling. “Can I see?” he asks gently, and Hakyeon unfurls his fist.

“Are any of you paying attention to what I just said?” Wonshik snaps from behind Sanghyuk, and when he looks back over his shoulder he can see that the vampire is antsy as well, pacing back and forth with the laptop still in hand.

“It’s kinda hard to focus on two things at once,” Sanghyuk replies evenly, smoothing the letter out with his hand. If forced to choose he will always, _always_ choose his maker. It’s biology. He doesn’t even _have_ a choice.

The letter is written on thick paper, which is probably what saved it from disintegrating totally in the rain—but as it is, the drawing of the black feather on the front is pretty soaked, the ink running everywhere. It’s a good thing Hakyeon found it; if Sanghyuk saw it first he’d assume it was something Taekwoon had drawn, a deliberate slight. The letter, when he opens it up, is brief and written in hastily-scrawled handwriting:

_Little incubus,_

_I am safe and well—as well as I can be given the circumstances. By that I mean I am not injured. The battle continues with Taekwoon, but neither of us have an edge over the other, yet. I apologise for not being able to give you this message in person. You know as well as I that this distance between us hurts me more than anything the bastard can do to me. He knows where you are, unfortunately, which is the thing preventing me from speaking to you in person; we are each other’s guard dogs, keeping each other from getting to you. An effective strategy, if a crude one. I’m working on wearing him down._

_I will see you soon, my love,_

_Your Nephilim._

Sanghyuk runs his fingers over that last word, _nephilim_ , and chews his lip. Hakyeon doesn’t seem to care about anything except that Jaehwan’s still alive, but this letter holds deeper significance than just that, and the thread of fear that runs through him must be visible on his face as he turns and thrusts the letter at Hongbin. “It’s not good,” he says grimly, running a hand through his hair.

That makes Wonshik stop pacing, and he looks over Hongbin’s shoulder to read the letter. Sanghyuk can see when they reach the part that has him so worried; they both pale in unison, going from their usual ghostly pallor to something that looks rather grey, and Sanghyuk just looks back at them hopelessly. “He knows where we are,” he says, and tries not to let the panic creep into his voice. If he lets the panic in he’ll start losing it, and he’s only just managing to hold it together. Taekwoon knows where they are. Taekwoon knows where _he_ is. Oh, God. “What are we going to do?”

A damp hand closes around his wrist and then Hakyeon’s tugging him back down onto the sofa, wrapping both arms around him and pulling him close. That takes the edge off his panic, slightly, and he takes a deep breath in. “It’s alright,” Hakyeon whispers, kissing the closest part of him—his arm, as it turns out. “It’s alright. Jaehwan won’t let him get to us. I know he won’t.”

When Sanghyuk closes his eyes, he sees Taekwoon that night in the alley, the light shimmering around him like he wasn’t even real; he’s never felt power like that since, and it terrifies him down to his core. How can they be safe from him? How can they ever be free of the terror he brings to them? But then he opens his eyes again and sees Hongbin crouching on the floor in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed with concern, and Wonshik peering at him worriedly, and banishes those thoughts for another time. He can have his mental breakdown later, in the comfort of Hongbin’s arms.

“What are we going to do?” he murmurs, when he’s sure his voice isn’t going to waver. “I mean, it doesn’t matter where we go. He’ll always know where we are. We can’t—we can’t _do_ anything against him. He’s a Goliath.”

No one misses the bible reference, and Hongbin quirks an eyebrow and his lips wobble—a sure sign he’s holding back a smile. “I don’t know,” he replies quietly, reaching out to pat Sanghyuk on the knee. “But I’m—”

“For fuck’s sake!” That’s Wonshik, and everyone turns to look at him. In his exasperation his eyes are glowing so bright Sanghyuk nearly winces, and his fangs are fully out. “That’s what I’ve been trying to _say_ , but you’re all so caught up with Hakyeon’s idiotic love letter to pay any attention. _I know how to get Taekwoon_.”

“It’s not—” Hakyeon starts, his arms tightening around Sanghyuk in indignation, before he stops. “Wait, you what?”

“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing on the computer all this time? Wait, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know,” Wonshik says, shaking his head. “I’ve been researching, since you were too depressed to do anything except have sex.”

All of them just blink at him, but it’s Hongbin who cracks first. “Are you seriously saying you found a method to kill an angel on the internet, of all places?” He turns to look at Sanghyuk. “Why weren’t we googling this?”

Wonshik picks the laptop back up from where he’d flung it on the arm chair. “No, I didn’t say kill. I’m sure none of us can touch him. He’d just heal from any wound we gave him. That’s a job for Jaehwan. But I know how to… how to trap him, I think. Or summon him.”

“Do you think I haven’t thought of that already?” Hakyeon demands, peering around Sanghyuk. “I’ve been half tempted to get some fucking salt and lavender and go out there and call him, but it wouldn’t work! You know that’s just a request.”

Sanghyuk is so confused his head is spinning, and he grips Hakyeon’s chin and turns him so they’re face-to-face. “What the hell do you mean, lavender and salt?”

For a moment he expects Hakyeon to roll his eyes—but instead his expression softens, and he reaches out and cups Sanghyuk’s cheek, his eyes kind. “I forget you’re so new, since you took so well to this life,” he murmurs. He turns back to look at the others, his glance flitting over the letter, still in Hongbin’s hand. “Let’s get some food and some drinks and sit down and discuss this _rationally_.” This last part he directs at Wonshik, who huffs.

//

They order food—or rather, Hakyeon orders food, and when the delivery driver arrives he flirts with him for a solid five minutes before Wonshik grabs him by the collar and drags him away. The whole time Sanghyuk and Hongbin sit curled up on the sofa, exchanging incredulous glances with each other as Hakyeon arranges the pizza and fried chicken on the floor, handing Sanghyuk a pair of chopsticks while humming happily. He hasn’t been like this since—well, since before Wonshik was stabbed, really. It’s such a change from how he was just a few days ago that Sanghyuk feels like he has whiplash.

(He still has the dagger tucked in his belt, the shiny blade catching the light, and Sanghyuk reminds himself to ask him about it later.)

“Shouldn’t we, uh, be talking about this?” he asks around a mouthful of chicken. “You know… the battle for good and evil?”

Hongbin and Wonshik—drinking coke and, in Hongbin’s case, trying to not look jealous—look at him evenly. “It’s been raging for millennia, so I’m sure it can wait until you two are finished eating,” Wonshik replies dryly, and that shuts him up.

“Okay,” Hakyeon starts sometime later, wiping his hands on a napkin. The sudden domesticity of the situation strikes Sanghyuk, and he could laugh; somewhere very far away a nephilim and an angel are battling to the death, and they’re sitting here having the most civil, normal dinner he can imagine. “Sanghyuk, you don’t know this, and I don’t think Hongbin knows the specifics, either. There’s a method you can use to summon angels.”

“It’s not really a summoning,” Wonshik interrupts, narrowing his eyes at Hakyeon. “It’s an ancient ritual, invoking magic we can’t really control. We can feel it—we are animated by it, after all—but we can’t use it like true immortals do. So the specifics have been lost over time.”

“You need salt, lavender, and Latin.” Hakyeon checks these off on his fingers. “I don’t know why, but that’s the recipe. It doesn’t matter what Latin phrase you use, just that you say something in Latin—and boom, you have yourself an angel. If they choose to hear and obey your request, of course.”

Sanghyuk just blinks at them, slightly startled by this overload of information. He knows that they’re all animated by some magic that they can sense but not use, of course—he’s had long conversations with Hongbin about his ability to see auras, although he doesn’t really understand it—and he knows that true immortals, being beings as old as time itself, can harness that magic. It’s what they use to summon their weapons, drawing from the power they know; demons forge theirs from the very essence of Hell, and angels forge theirs from the very essence of Heaven. Nephilim are a unique breed in that they forge theirs from the very Earth they stand on, as it represents their conception—an angel fell to create them, of course. Most of this he knows from snippets of conversations he’s overheard, or small things Hakyeon has told him. The rest he’s had to figure out for himself.

But the only angel he’s ever come in contact was Taekwoon. From what the others say, he’s not representative of all angels (“they’re all sanctimonious dickheads,” Hakyeon had slurred once while he was drunk, his wine sloshing everywhere as he waved his glass in the air, “but they are beings of Heaven, after all. So they’re usually forces for good”), but he’s had enough of this one to last a lifetime or two. The concept of summoning an angel is just… ridiculous. Not to mention the method.

“Salt? And _lavender?_ So you’re telling me that all I need to have a real life angel appear in this room right now is to get some salt and a plant and say a Hail Mary?” Sanghyuk splutters, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest.

“Do you even know how to say the Hail Mary in Latin?” Hongbin asks, eyebrow raised.

Finally, a chance for his Catholic upbringing to come in handy. He puffs himself up and clears his throat. “Ave Maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum—”

“Alright,” Wonshik cuts him off with a flash of fang. “It’s not quite as easy as that. As I said, it’s a _request_. It’s like… I don’t know. Sending a fax to Heaven.” The rest start laughing at this, but he continues regardless. “They don’t have to answer it.”

“Putting aside that your little metaphor falls flat, thanks to the fact that faxes are about thirty years out of date… you’re right.” Hakyeon nods sagely and takes another bite of pizza. “I can’t say why the ritual calls for those things, only that it does and that I’ve done it and it works. If they choose to answer. Half the time they don’t bother.”

Wonshik folds his arms over his chest. “I can explain.” He pauses for a moment, as if he’s waiting for someone to interrupt, but no one does so he continues blithely. “Unlike the rest of you, I’m fluent in Latin, although I haven’t used it for years. Sanghyuk helped me with finding sources and the whole time I’ve been here I’ve been searching. I had a hunch that an element of the ritual had been lost over time, the element that changes the ritual from a _request_ to something _binding_ , something the angel can’t escape from. And I found the clue. You have to say a certain Latin phrase.”

Everyone just stares at him, and for a moment Sanghyuk thinks Hakyeon is actually about to leap up and kill him—his rage flows into the bond, thick and strong, and Sanghyuk is choked with it. “You’re fucking kidding me. All this time—they’ve been battling for _millennia_ —all this time and we could have just said the magic words? What is this, fucking _Harry Potter?_ ”

“I don’t know if it will work,” Wonshik offers, shrinking back into the sofa as Hakyeon gets to his feet. “I had to piece it together from texts that were probably older than Jaehwan. It’s just a hunch.”

“And what do we do, if it works?” Sanghyuk asks. The others all turn to look at him, and he shrugs. “I mean… then we’ll have Taekwoon, presumably trapped. Except we can’t kill him, right?”

Another caveat—false immortals can’t kill true immortals. Wound them, sure—Sanghyuk will never forget the way Wonshik had sunk his dagger into Taekwoon’s thigh, the way Taekwoon had licked his own blood off the blade—but they’d just heal any damage done. He doesn’t know how many times he’s had dreams of driving a sword right through Taekwoon’s heart, but they’re just dreams. This is Jaehwan’s fight.

“I never got that far,” Wonshik replies. “I haven’t planned any of this, obviously. I don’t know what we do from here. We have the knowledge, or at least some semblance of knowledge, but…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. This is… above me. I’ve always steered clear of true immortals. This is why.”

Hakyeon folds himself back down on the floor and takes another bite of his pizza, shrugging nonchalantly like it’s no big deal. “We summon Taekwoon. Wherever he goes, Jaehwan follows. And then Jaehwan will kill him.” He grins around his mouthful, but it’s a rather grim sight. “Simple.”

“I really doubt it will be that easy,” Sanghyuk murmurs, reaching for Hongbin’s hand to wind their fingers together.

They’re both shaking.

//

Sanghyuk finds him on the beach, sitting in the sand and turning the dagger over and over in his hands. He’s been there since before sunrise, watched the sun heave itself over the sky, the taste of nervous anticipation on his tongue.

“Hey,” Sanghyuk says as way of greeting, sitting on the sand and leaning his head on Hakyeon’s shoulder. They sit there in silence for a moment before Sanghyuk reaches for the dagger. Hakyeon lets him take it, watches as he flips it over and sees the inscription, and his eyes go wide—Sanghyuk knows it, of course. “What’s this for?”

Hakyeon digs his hand into the sand, feels its warmth and coarseness under his fingers. “I’m going to sink it into Taekwoon’s heart and I’m going to twist it until he screams,” he murmurs, looking out at the sea. “It won’t kill him, but I don’t care. I want him to know that pain.”

What he feels through the bond—Sanghyuk’s not shielding, and the fact that they’re touching negates that, anyway—is admiration, followed by horror and then fear. “I suppose that’s why you chose this verse, then,” he says, and flips the dagger so he’s holding it right-way-up. “Do you really think this will work?”

“Wonshik’s ritual? I don’t know. I think Wonshik thinks it will.” He sighs and wraps an arm around Sanghyuk, pulling him closer, needing his warmth. “It’s time for this to end, once and for all. I’m tired of being hunted.”

They lie down in the sand together. Sanghyuk rolls over onto his side and Hakyeon follows him, draping one arm over his waist and pillowing the other underneath his head. Like this with the sun beating down on them and the ocean crashing gently on the sand behind them, it’s a quiet little moment of peace that does not go unappreciated. Sanghyuk’s breathing gets deeper and deeper, relaxation coursing through them both, and Hakyeon starts to believe—really, properly believe—that they might make it through this, all of them. Their plan is pretty foolproof. Do the ritual, say the magic words (he can’t quite believe that after all of this, that’s what it comes down to), Taekwoon will appear, and this will be over. It’s why he’s been pushing for it to happen sooner, rather than later; they have no real reason to wait. Doing the ritual here or in Seoul will have the same outcome—Taekwoon will die. They’ll all be free.

“Are you so sure that this will work, though, hyung?” Sanghyuk whispers, like he’s been reading Hakyeon’s mind. “You seem really… confident.”

At first he wants to be cocky and say why wouldn’t he be? But the fear in Sanghyuk suddenly courses through him, and he tamps it down, reminding himself to breathe and work through it. It’s not his. _It’s not his_. He has to remember that. “Are you not?” he asks.

Sanghyuk holds the dagger up in the air, so Hakyeon can see it, and draws it across his palm quick as a flash. The metal is unbelievably sharp and they both cry out at the pain—Sanghyuk’s cut himself down to the tendon. “I’m terrified,” he whispers, as they both watch the wound close, leaving nothing but blood running down Sanghyuk’s wrist with no source. “We can heal from this… but his sword… If he breaks free of the circle, he’ll kill us all. There’s nothing we can do to stop him.”

“He won’t break through,” Hakyeon whispers, tugging at Sanghyuk’s shoulder so they end up face to face. “I mean it. And if he does, you run. You take Hongbin and you run. Get out of the country, go somewhere remote. Swim if you have to. Wonshik and I will handle him.” He lays a hand on Sanghyuk’s face, and Sanghyuk shudders. “But Jaehwan will be there. I promise, we will keep you safe. I won’t let him get near you.”

“I wish I could believe that,” Sanghyuk replies miserably, sounding older than his years.

Hakyeon kisses him then, at first to comfort but then it shifts, changes into something more heated. Sanghyuk rolls over so he’s on top of Hakyeon, and between his body and the heat of the sand Hakyeon thinks he might actually melt away. He chases away Sanghyuk’s trembles with his hands, replaces them with shivers of anticipation, and then trails a hand down Sanghyuk’s chest to pluck at the fabric of his shirt. In sync they shift them away, and all that _skin_ —Hakyeon can’t get enough of him. “We’re gonna fucking make it, Sanghyuk,” he gasps as Sanghyuk nibbles at his ear, his breath hot. “We’ve been through too much shit together for it to end now.”

“Shut up,” Sanghyuk growls, but Hakyeon grabs him by the throat and pushes—and then their positions are reversed and Sanghyuk goes limp and boneless. So easy. “Hyung,” he breathes, eyes wide.

“If you want it, you’re gonna have to come and get it,” Hakyeon warns, and stands up to make a show of dusting off his clothes.

He only makes it ten steps up the beach before Sanghyuk roars and tackles him from behind, his lust pulsing through them both, the dagger lying forgotten on the sand behind them.

//

It’s not the first time Hakyeon has prepared for battle.

The last time had been different. It had just been the two of them, him and Wonshik—it wasn’t that long ago, but after recent events it feels like a different lifetime. There’d been a ritual then, too, but it was fueled only by their desperation; nothing more.

Luring the demon had been easy. He was stupid, and stupidity is a weakness they both knew how to exploit. He wanted Hakyeon, so Hakyeon was bait; and he wouldn’t have minded except that, as beautiful as the demon was, he didn’t just want Hakyeon for a night. He wanted him _forever_. So he’d lured the demon into the circle—he was too rapt to notice the salt under his feet, the lavender that Hakyeon crushed in his hand—and then all hell had broken loose.

He only vaguely remembers it, now; he’d shifted into some creature and grabbed onto the demon’s wings while he howled in pain, too busy trying to get Hakyeon off to summon his sword. Wonshik had stepped into the circle and said the Latin—that’s the one thing that Hakyeon remembers, how clear his voice rung out across the room: “Radix malorum est cupiditas,” he’d snarled with fangs bared, _greed is the root of evil_ —and then there was a flash of lavender and a scream and Hakyeon was thrown away, went crashing into a wall, pain making him shriek, and—

And he’d opened his eyes to see Wonshik drive the angel’s sword into the demon’s chest, up to the hilt, and then everything had exploded.

This time, though, there’s no carefully laid plans, no diagrams that Wonshik had drawn up and pored over, no lines to go over. They’re in the kitchen of the ridiculous mansion, leaning over the island, but all they’re peering at is the salt and handfuls of lavender Wonshik had gathered. Hakyeon’s dagger lies on the marble, the only weapon.

After all this time, this is all they are reduced to. A mineral, a plant, and a dagger. Hakyeon would weep if he didn’t find it so funny.

“So,” Wonshik starts, slapping his hands on the island. “We’ll do it on the beach, because I don’t want to have to pay to fix this house. Whatever happens will no doubt be explosive.” He eyes Hakyeon at this, but doesn’t elaborate. “The preparation is easy. We make a circle of salt and then we crush the lavender in our hands and throw it in. Normally I would suggest we stand _in_ the circle, but I think this time it’s best if we all stand outside it. And then we say the phrase.”

“You haven’t actually told us what that is, you know,” Hongbin reminds him with an eyeroll.

For facing what will almost certainly be the biggest battle of their lives, Hongbin and Sanghyuk seem rather nonchalant. None of the fear that Hakyeon had sensed this morning is present in Sanghyuk; in fact, as their eyes meet, Sanghyuk gives him a cocky smile and a wink.

Wonshik clears his throat and draws himself up to his full height. “O amate Domini, in orbem nostrum te arcesso, sale vinctum, lavendula sevocatum, alis ad solem non iam passis,” he recites, the syllables sounding so poetic as they roll off his tongue that Hakyeon is instantly hypnotised. When he finishes, though, he flinches, and looks around like he expects Taekwoon to be breathing down his neck.

Nothing happens, of course.

“What does it mean?” Sanghyuk prompts, his face screwed up. “I got the Lord bit, but not the rest.”

“Roughly translated, it’s: ‘Beloved by the almighty, I summon thee to our circle, bound by salt and drawn by lavender, wings stretched out to the sun.’” Everyone just stares at him, and he looks back at them, clearly mystified. “What?”

“That sounds like some shit slam poetry I heard in a dive bar once,” Hakyeon replies, folding his arms over his chest and trying to ignore the way his heart is racing. “I thought it would be more… dramatic. Something like, ‘come and meet your doom.’”

“‘Vengeance will be ours,’” Sanghyuk suggests helpfully.

“‘I’ll bathe in angel’s blood and taste the sun,’” Hongbin adds, and this time everyone turns to stare at him. “What?”

Wonshik smacks his hand on the island again. “This phrase has been around for thousands of years. I didn’t invent it, so stop shitting on it, for God’s sake. I don’t think this ritual was intended to be used for such nefarious purposes when it was created, which is probably why it isn’t as…. Harsh.”

“Why would anyone want to trap an angel for non-nefarious purposes?” Sanghyuk points out, and they all fall silent at that.

They all shuffle out towards the beach, moving sluggishly; Hakyeon wants to scream at them to _hurry up!_ but he restrains himself, barely. It’s not the time or place. And as eager as he is to finish this, even he can’t lie that some of the fear beating in time with his heart is his own, not Sanghyuk’s.

Wonshik catches up to him as the others amble ahead, curling a hand around Hakyeon’s forearm to pull him close. “Listen. If he breaks free of that circle…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hakyeon replies, shooting Wonshik a glare that says _shut up right now_. “I’ll be right beside you.”

“Sanghyuk needs you,” Wonshik replies softly, and Hakyeon sees anguish there, as deep as the ocean looming up in front of them. “Hongbin can cope on his own now, but Sanghyuk—”

Hakyeon cuts him off, jerking to a stop and shaking his head. “I’m not leaving you, Wonshik. They’ll run. We’ll fight. You know that’s the way it has to be.”

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way at all,” Wonshik murmurs, and Hakyeon agrees.

They walk the rest of the way in silence, Wonshik’s grip on Hakyeon’s arm having shifted so they’re holding hands; it’s uncharacteristic of him, which makes Hakyeon appreciate it all the more. Some of the fear lessens, a little bit, and his steps get lighter.

“Okay,” Wonshik starts once they’ve huddled around a spot on the beach. There’s nothing special about it, which kind of defeats the purpose, in Hakyeon’s eyes; for a battle like this he feels like the setting should be equally as dramatic as what’s about to occur. It should be storming, the sea crashing all around them; instead the night is balmy and warm, the sea lapping gently at the shore behind them. “So. None of you need to do anything except stand there and be prepared for whatever happens. Don’t enter the circle. Don’t goad Taekwoon. And pray that Jaehwan shows up.” As he’s speaking, Wonshik is pouring the salt on the sand in a circle that’s big enough for two people, his feet shuffling in the sand. “The rest is up to fate.”

“That’s deep,” Sanghyuk snipes, but Hakyeon pinches him fiercely. “Ow!”

Once the circle is complete, Wonshik steps outside of it and pulls the lavender from his pocket. Hakyeon’s palm is slippery on the handle of his dagger as Wonshik crushes the lavender in his fist, looking more serious than Hakyeon’s ever seen him, before throwing it into the middle of the circle. “Are we ready?” he asks, looking around the circle. Everyone nods, but Hongbin looks almost grey with fear and Sanghyuk is shifting restlessly. “Alright. Here goes.”

As he speaks those words— _“o amate Domini, in orbem nostrum te arcesso, sale vinctum, lavendula sevocatum, alis ad solem non iam passis,”_ he intones slowly and methodically—a feeling skitters up Hakyeon’s spine, and by the reactions of the others he guesses they feel it too. It’s an ominous feeling. A warning. The gentle press of power, resisting—and then, as the last syllable leaves Wonshik’s mouth, the press of power turns into a wave so fierce it smacks Hakyeon in the face and he staggers back a few steps.

He knows that power. He’d know the taste of that signature in his sleep; it’s light and flowery, as all angelic auras are, but along with the taste of lavender comes the horrible feeling of coldness that creeps into his bones. When he looks up Taekwoon is standing in the middle of the circle, his wings open and half-spread, sword hanging by his side and his face carefully, perfectly blank. Hakyeon only gets a second to recognise that it _worked_ —it actually worked, Wonshik is a fucking _genius_ —before a second rush of power hits him, this so familiar it winds him.

Jaehwan.

Hakyeon doesn’t even notice that there’s a strange thread of glowing, silvery light surrounding the circle, connecting the four of them in the shape of the salt on the sand; he doesn’t notice anything at all. His world fades away to Jaehwan and only Jaehwan. That’s the only thing he’s thinking as he takes a step forward, arm outstretched: _JaehwanJaehwanJaehwanJaehwanJaehwan_. He needs to touch him, needs to make sure he’s actually alive, that he’s here, that he’s not some hallucination Hakyeon has dreamed up, fueled by nothing but empty hopes and dreams.

That’s why he doesn’t notice Taekwoon raising his sword, his expression morphing into one of hatred; he doesn’t hear Hongbin gasp, “Oh, fuck,” from his right. What snaps him from his stupor is Wonshik yelling Jaehwan’s name, and then—

He’s never seen two creatures move as fast as Jaehwan and Taekwoon when Jaehwan raises his sword, parrying Taekwoon’s blow with an ease that Hakyeon marvels at. Taekwoon staggers into the boundary of the circle, but the thread of light just stretches slightly, holding him in place; with his presence there the wave of angelic power swells, forcing them all back a step. It’s the strangest thing Hakyeon has ever felt; it’s almost like he’s being drained slowly, like he’s shapeshifting constantly—he can see the strain on everyone else’s faces, too, when he dares to look away from the true immortals to see.

The sounds of the battle are perhaps the worst part. It’s the sounds of swords clashing, the rustle of wings, and the grunts of desperation; he can’t look away, as much as he’d like to. It’s almost like they’re dancing, and in any other circumstance it would be almost beautiful. Right now it’s just terrifying. They are so evenly matched that for every wound that Taekwoon opens on Jaehwan—his arm, his shoulders, across his back between his wings—Jaehwan gives him one in return. They’re teleporting, too, popping in and out of reality every few seconds—but they seem to know each other too well, now, and Jaehwan isn’t getting an edge. This wasn’t meant to happen. Jaehwan wasn’t meant to be trapped in there with him—

To Hakyeon’s left, Sanghyuk crumples.

Hongbin screams wordlessly, the sound ripping the air in two, taking a shaky step towards him; Wonshik grabs his arm to hold him back, and Hakyeon realises with horror that they’re both shaking desperately. They won’t be able to hold out much longer. Sanghyuk’s not even moving; Hakyeon can feel he’s empty. Taekwoon pushes Jaehwan into the barrier and it bulges, giving way. A cry from Wonshik. Hakyeon’s eyelids flutter. _Pain. Pain, this hurts, Jaehwan_ , he thinks as he falls to his knees, the drain on his energy intensifying with every second. They’re going to… fail. He never thought of this. They never anticipated this. Wasn’t meant to happen, wasn’t meant to happen, wasn’t—

He sees it happen in slow motion. Taekwoon’s sword slices through the flesh of Jaehwan’s leg, opening a wound so deep Hakyeon can see his bone; instantly Taekwoon turns, scanning them all, his eyes eventually settling on Sanghyuk. With the last reserves of his strength, Hakyeon stands up again, raising the dagger—Taekwoon will not lay a hand on Sanghyuk again, _never_ again, he’ll die before that happens—and not caring that he has to enter the circle. But he doesn’t even get a chance to, because Taekwoon roars and, with a wave of power so strong Hakyeon is blinded by it, flings all his power at Sanghyuk, lying prone on the sand as Hongbin sobs and crawls towards him.

The world explodes.

Taekwoon’s power flings Hakyeon to the shoreline and when he groggily comes to—he doesn’t black out, not quite, but everything goes hazy for a few long moments—he realises he’s lying in the water, and there’s the horrible sounds of the battle raging on in front of him. He has sand in his eyes, sand up his nose, sand in his mouth. Off to his right is Wonshik, pulling himself up into a crouch; with horror Hakyeon realises that there is no circle of silver light surrounding them all, and the circle is broken.

Now they’re unfettered by the confines of the circle, seeing Taekwoon and Jaehwan battle is mesmerising, and for a moment Hakyeon feels like he’s seeing it all in slow motion. Both of them are letting out waves of power that wash over him, but it’s clear he’s not the target. The way they dance around each other, dodging each other’s swipes neatly, blinking in and out in a way that’s almost poetic, makes Hakyeon appreciate how they could have been doing this for hundreds and hundreds of years. But as he watches, drawing himself to his feet slowly, he realises that Jaehwan—despite the horrible wound on his calf streaming blood into the sand—has an edge; Taekwoon’s left wing is dripping blood and he’s keeping it tucked close to his body as Jaehwan slowly, slowly wears him down.

Ripping his eyes away from the battle is the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he manages it and looks for Sanghyuk— _there_. Hongbin’s dragged him away from the winged immortals, into the base of the dunes, and without even hesitating Hakyeon springs up and races towards them. He assesses as he moves, but Taekwoon’s power wave hasn’t seem to have done any lasting damage. He’s drained and will need to feed, but that’s it.

“How is he?” he asks breathlessly, dropping to his knees on the sand beside them. “What happened?”

“Taekwoon’s a fucking asshole,” Sanghyuk replies, struggling upright. Hakyeon gets such a shock he leaps backwards; he’d thought Sanghyuk was out cold. “He… hit me with something.”

Leaning back forward to run his hands over Sanghyuk’s limbs, feeling for breaks, Hakyeon presses his lips in a line. “Yeah. An immortal bitchslap. We all felt it.”

“I wish Jaehwan would just bitchslap him straight to hell.” Sanghyuk gets to his feet, with the help of Hongbin, and shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear it. “Are you guys as drained as I am?”

Feeling the approach of someone behind him, Hakyeon whirls, stalking right over to Wonshik and jabbing a finger into his chest. “Yeah, thanks for warning us, Wonshik.”

Wonshik grabs Hakyeon’s hand and snarls, right in his face; with his eyes as red as they are he looks rabid, and with the whole atmosphere of the battle behind him it’s not a very reassuring sight. “How the fuck was I meant to know? You should be grateful it worked at all.”

“Except it didn’t, did it!” Hakyeon yells back, sweeping an arm towards the true immortals, so caught up in their fight they are paying no attention to whatever else is going on. “Why the fuck is Jaehwan here? I thought it was an angel summoning ritual, not a fucking true immortal one. What’s next? A demon?”

A piercing scream splits the air in two, and they all turn to see Jaehwan bracing himself against a wave of power—a wave of power that hits them and sends them all tumbling to the ground again. Taekwoon is crouching, his hand cupped over the end of his arm, or what used to be his arm. It’s lying on the sand next to him, Jaehwan’s sword is dripping with blood, and Hakyeon realises with horror what’s happened.

Before Jaehwan can raise his sword again to finish the deed, Taekwoon looks up at him and then looks up at their little group, his eyes finding Hakyeon’s. They stare at each other for a heartbeat, the air between them thick, weighty, something tangible there—and then Taekwoon blinks away, leaving nothing but his blood behind.

No one says a word as Jaehwan turns and approaches them. As he walks across the sand he shapeshifts his clothes from the tattered, ruined mess they were into something clean and presentable. His wings disappear, and by the time he comes to a halt in front of Hakyeon his eyes are back to their normal brown and he’s smiling like he hasn’t just crippled an angel, doesn’t have blood _still_ spurting out of his leg. “Hey,” he says, and everyone just stares.

“Did you kill him?” Sanghyuk asks, taking a minute step back, his eyes distrustful. Hakyeon’s heart hurts at that, almost as much as his whole body does. He’s so fucking tired.

Jaehwan’s smile falters, but only for a second. “No. He’s scurried off somewhere to heal that arm back. Probably to Heaven.” His eyes flit around them all before landing on Hakyeon. “I wished you could have warned me you’d perform a summoning ritual, little incubus. It does hurt quite a bit to be pulled away like that.”

“Asshole,” Hakyeon says calmly, and falls into his arms.

//

They end up back in the house. Hakyeon stitches up Jaehwan’s leg (“Wonshik’s better at sutures,” he points out, but Jaehwan had just nodded in Wonshik’s direction and Hakyeon—upon seeing him staring at the blood running down Jaehwan’s calf, eyes blazing and nostrils flaring—had promptly shut his mouth) and all the various other cuts he has, all over his body, but the wounds don’t close. Even sewn shut as tight as he can do them there’s still blood oozing out of him, dripping all over the tiles wherever he walks. The vampires are transfixed, but Sanghyuk just looks mildly disgusted.

“You need to explain,” Hakyeon says once he’s downed a scotch and has another in hand, “what the hell just happened.”

Jaehwan, who is sitting at the kitchen island nursing the bottle, looks up and smiles—but he looks tired. “Which part? The part where I was summoned? Or the part where I cut Taekwoon’s arm off? Or the part where—”

“All of it,” Wonshik interjects from where he’s standing with Hongbin on the other side of the room. With their eyes glowing matching crimson, mirroring shudders working their way through their bodies, they look fearsome. Even Hakyeon can tell they are desperately, ravenously hungry—everyone is. But they don’t dare peel off to feed. They all need to figure out what the hell happened, and what went wrong. It wasn’t meant to be like this. “I figured out what to say to summon Taekwoon,” Wonshik continues, “but we didn’t realise it would bring you along with it. I must have got the words wrong somehow.”

“And what words were those?” Jaehwan replies with a glimmer of a smile on his face—he knows as well as Hakyeon that for Wonshik to admit he is wrong is something that has only happened once every few centuries.

Wonshik sighs, but repeats the phrase. When he finishes, Jaehwan raises the bottle to his lips, takes a sip, and shakes his head. “Vero,” is all he says.

“Truth?” Sanghyuk asks, brow furrowed.

“‘Amate vero’,” Jaehwan replies. “Truly beloved. That’s where you went wrong, Wonshik. We’re all beloved by God, but only angels are truly beloved. Without that, the summoning just grabbed the two nearest winged immortals and flung them into the circle. Any angel could have turned up. Or any nephilim.” His smile this time is grim. “And most aren’t as friendly as I am.”

“How do you know this?” Wonshik growls, shifting restlessly. “If you already knew the words for the ritual, why didn’t you just do it yourself?”

Jaehwan turns his eyes skyward and it’s _almost_ an eyeroll—Hakyeon bites his lip, because with Wonshik as on-edge as he is, this could go downhill very fast, especially if he thinks Jaehwan is giving him an attitude. “I didn’t know the words,” he replies pointedly, staring Wonshik down. “It’s an educated guess based on what I know of angels. And even if I did know the words, why _would_ I do the ritual? Taekwoon would just resist until he’d worn me down, and then he’d break the circle and I wouldn’t be able to defend myself. And I never had to seek him out. He always found me.”

“So the strength of the circle is directly related to the strength of the immortals conducting the ritual?” That’s Hongbin, speaking for the first time, looking just as pissed off as Wonshik does.

Taking another longer swallow—Hakyeon can’t quite keep his eyes off Jaehwan’s throat, his lips wrapped around the bottle—Jaehwan eyes Hongbin for a moment before replying. “Yes,” he replies, and then squints. “What did you see?”

He’s not asking what Hongbin saw with his eyes, Hakyeon gathers that much. All of a sudden he realises he’s never really asked Jaehwan about what he knows about Hongbin’s ability; he’s mentioned it in passing, as he has with Jihoon, but Jaehwan had never said anything in reply to it.

“You’re green,” Hongbin replies bluntly, tilting his head to the side. “Like earth. Moss. Forests. That’s what your power feels like, too. Taekwoon is lavender… very pale purple. It’s not as nice as it sounds. But when the two of you are battling… Your aura gets so light it nearly hurts to see. And his gets dark.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what any of that means. When we were holding the circle I could see… our energy, I guess, disappearing into that thread of light. It _was_ draining us.”

Hakyeon finishes his drink and snatches the bottle from Jaehwan to pour himself another. “So the fuller we are, the longer we’ll be able to hold it for, right?” As he puts the bottle down again he realises his hands are shaking slightly, and stares at them for a moment. He hasn’t been this empty in ages. “All we have to do is feed and then do it again. He won’t be able to break out that way.”

“If only it was that simple, little incubus,” Jaehwan replies, sounding older and sadder than he has any right to. “No matter how many times you feed, you still have a finite amount of energy. It will run out. And Sanghyuk, as the youngest, will always be the one to drain first. Taekwoon will always target him.”

They all muse on that for a moment—Sanghyuk goes three shades paler, and Hongbin puts an arm around him—as the kitchen hums and clicks quietly around them. The scotch is worming its way through Hakyeon’s body, making his head fuzzy, but it’s when he looks out the window at the sea he realises what they must do, what he must ask of Jaehwan.

Again.

“We’d be able to hold the circle if you were there with us,” he says softly, turning back to look at Jaehwan to find him already meeting his gaze. “You’re powerful enough.”

Jaehwan looks very, very sad, and Hakyeon’s heart plummets. “I am. But if I was in the circle, someone else would have to kill Taekwoon. And even bound by a circle he can’t be killed by any of you.”

“But we could wound him,” Hakyeon points out. “If someone could just cut off one of his wings—”

The noise that Jaehwan makes at that is a cross between a growl and a groan, and a shudder works its way through his body so violently Hakyeon takes a step back. “It’s too risky,” he hisses, and when he opens his eyes they’re black. Hakyeon has never seen such a visceral reaction to something he’s said before—but given how sensitive Jaehwan’s wings are, he shouldn’t be that surprised. “All it would take is one wrong move and he would kill you. And I wouldn’t be able to heal you. It would be over.”

“Do you have another solution?” Hakyeon counters.

Jaehwan opens his mouth, shuts it again, and sighs, slumping onto the counter. “No,” he mumbles, playing with the label on the bottle. “But it’s incredibly dangerous. There would be no protection for whoever went in the circle. They’d be alone.”

“I’ll go,” Sanghyuk says into the heavy silence that’s fallen over them all. When Hakyeon looks up, he can feel the burning weight of anger and indignation burning in his chest—it’s not his, but it may as well be. “I’ve dreamt of fucking him up for months on end.”

“No,” Hakyeon and Wonshik snap in unison, and then turn to glare at each other. “And don’t even think about volunteering, Hongbin,” Hakyeon adds, seeing the vampire deflate out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ll do it. I’m the strongest.” Wonshik raises his chin, and even though he’s practically wilting on his feet—Hakyeon’s never seen him look quite this exhausted before—he looks strong, proud, every bit the vampire Hakyeon knows him to be.

The clink of the bottle hitting the marble draws everyone’s eyes back to Jaehwan. He’s shaking his head sadly, looking like someone’s just punched him. Hakyeon knows what he’s about to say before he says it—and this time the fear that begins to choke him is all his own. “If we’re going to do this—and that’s a big _if_ —it has to be… Hakyeon.” Jaehwan scrubs a hand over his eyes, clearly miserable. “We’d have to weigh those who need to be conducting the circle against those who have the highest chance of surviving for longer than a minute against Taekwoon… and that means Sanghyuk and Hongbin must be part of the circle. Wonshik needs to be there, too, because he’s the strongest and has the most energy to give, sharing the burden with me. Which leaves Hakyeon to be the one to tackle Taekwoon.”

Four pairs of eyes fall on Hakyeon, and all of a sudden he feels very, very old. “If it’s what has to be done, I’ll do it,” he says, his heart heavy. “But we have time, right? He has to heal his arm back. And we need to feed.”

“No more than a few days, little incubus,” Jaehwan replies, closing his eyes.

The sorrow in the air is so thick Hakyeon can taste it, and he says nothing more as he turns and walks away from them all.

//

“You need to feed,” Jaehwan says from the bed.

He’d found Hakyeon a few minutes after he’d walked out of the kitchen, and they’d crawled into bed together and slept—although not for long, since the moment the sun came up Hakyeon woke up, too, and took a seat on the windowsill to gaze out at the beach and watch the sky turn from pink to blue. He’s too restless to sleep any more, and it’s not sleep his body needs, anyway.

“I know,” he replies, looking back at Jaehwan. In the bed with the morning light streaming over him, shirtless and with his tattoos plainly visible, he looks every bit the god Hakyeon sometimes thinks he is. “But I don’t want to leave you, even for a second.”

Unlike all the other times they parted, this time they have warning; he knows this is a blessing, but it feels like a curse. It’s almost worse to have a countdown to when they are inevitably separated again—this time with no hope for a reunion. If Hakyeon is the one in the circle with Taekwoon, he will almost certainly die. Not without taking out a wing first—but still. Death is a little hard to come back from.

Perhaps that should frighten him, he thinks rather detachedly as he slips back into bed, crawling into the circle of Jaehwan’s arms. After all, to suddenly be facing his death after centuries of dodging it… It’s not something he ever expected. But he can’t even muster up any feelings besides a lurching apathy that’s torn him in two.

“I won’t let you do this,” Jaehwan whispers, startling Hakyeon out of his melancholy thoughts. He touches Hakyeon on the face gently, his gaze worried. “We’ll come up with another way. If I can just—”

“There are no other ways,” Hakyeon replies dreamily, touching Jaehwan’s bottom lip with his finger. “You’re just going to keep doing this for the end of time. This has to end, Jaehwan. And we don’t have the time to figure out another solution.”

“We’re immortal. We have nothing but time.”

“Not now.” He sounds sad, he realises vaguely. Oh well. “You know this has to be the end. We have the words… It just has to be.”

Jaehwan actually shakes him at that, like he’s trying to snap Hakyeon out of it. “Stop saying that! You’re not a fucking defeatist,” he snarls, shaking his head. “I refuse to even entertain the possibility of you in the circle with Taekwoon. We can go to the demons… Or try asking other angels—”

“I’m not a defeatist,” Hakyeon replies smoothly, and pushes Jaehwan down to straddle his hips. It’s not a sexual gesture. He just wants to get his point across. “I’m a realist. And you know what, Jaehwan? I’m fucking tired of being on the verge of a panic attack twenty hours a day because Sanghyuk’s convinced he’s seeing Taekwoon’s ghost everywhere he goes and I feel everything he does. I’m sick of Wonshik looking at me differently, because he knows you nearly died for him. I’m sick of Hongbin withdrawing into himself. I’m fucking sick of everything he’s done to us and, most of all, I’m fucking sick of seeing him hurt you!” At this he points behind him at Jaehwan’s leg—it’s been hours, but the wound still hasn’t closed. “How many fucking times does this cycle have to repeat, Jaehwan? Will he kill Wonshik again? Sanghyuk? We have a way to end it all right now and I won’t let you stand in the fucking way because you’re worried about losing me, because there’s a bigger picture to look at.” Jaehwan’s mouth has fallen open, and Hakyeon softens, slumping a bit. “I don’t want to leave you. But we don’t have a choice. And it’s not fair on the others. Everything they’ve been through they’ve done it for me.”

“They would walk through fire for you, you know that,” Jaehwan says after a beat. “It doesn’t—”

“They already have,” Hakyeon says a little sadly. “And it’s enough. I’m not worth all that. They deserve lives free of Taekwoon and his shit.”

Jaehwan shakes his head. “So do you.”

“They’ve had to sacrifice.” Hakyeon doesn’t even have the energy to shapeshift away the tshirt he’s wearing so he pulls it over his head instead, feeling strangely removed from everything. The only things that feel real are Jaehwan’s hands on his hips, anchoring him to earth. “It’s time for me to sacrifice something in return.”

“Hakyeon, no,” Jaehwan begs, desperate but not bothering to hide it. “Please, think about this. There has to be another way—”

“Shut up,” Hakyeon says, not unkindly, and kisses him so he does just that.

 _The last time, the last time_ , his heart sings as Jaehwan rolls him over, his gaze so anguished Hakyeon closes his eyes so he can’t see. _The last time_. At least this time he knows. At least this time, what they have—his skin burns everywhere Jaehwan touches, like he’s leaving a physical imprint, a scar that sears him down to his soul—won’t be forgotten. They’ll live on, beyond this. They have to. What they have is bigger than them alone. He writhes around Jaehwan’s fingers, arching on the bed, unable to stop himself. _The last time, the last time, the last time._

“Look at me,” Jaehwan says raggedly, and when Hakyeon does he fucks into him in one smooth motion and watches as Hakyeon cries out, again and again. “I won’t lose you.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Hakyeon replies brokenly, and reaches for Jaehwan’s wings.

Normally they’re frantic and frenzied, especially as they haven’t seen each other in over a month. But they move slowly, taking their time; Jaehwan doesn’t close his eyes once, just watches Hakyeon’s facial expressions, drinking him in. Every touch is deliberate, every word tender, and it’s the sweetest thing Hakyeon has ever felt. Jaehwan feels it too. He _must_. He must know that whatever happens, this ends, and if Hakyeon ends along with it—so be it. He’s tired.

“I love you,” Jaehwan sobs brokenly into his neck, whimpering as Hakyeon holds onto his wing. “I love you, I love you—”

He comes with a cry and, even though he shouldn’t, drops his shields. Hakyeon is pinned to the bed by a wave of energy so familiar he starts crying even as he’s drinking it in; it invigorates him even as it renders him wretched and broken, unable to do anything but sob. He’s so close to coming, wants to be pushed over the edge, and when Jaehwan bends in closer his stomach is pressed up against Hakyeon’s cock and that’s all the friction he needs. His world explodes in light.

Afterwards Jaehwan holds him through the comedown, stroking his hair with such tenderness Hakyeon can barely stand it. He’s no longer empty, although he shouldn’t be; God knows that if anyone needs his strength for what’s to come it’s Jaehwan, but he won’t even listen when Hakyeon protests, just shakes his head with a smile. “I love seeing your face when you taste me,” he whispers, voice low, and a shiver runs down Hakyeon’s spine as he feels himself getting hard again, just from those words.

Jaehwan, of course, obliges him when Hakyeon says he wants to fuck his mouth.

By the time the sun is threatening to set, turning the whole sky a beautiful blazing orange, Hakyeon’s mood has improved, although only slightly. He doesn’t even flinch when he goes to the bathroom and comes back to see Jaehwan holding his dagger, his gaze deadly serious as he lounges on the windowsill completely naked. _He’s a God_ , Hakyeon thinks, taking in his tattoos and huge wings and magic that’s invisible but thrumming under his skin regardless. _He’s mine_.

“What’s this?” he says, and even though his tone is conversational his eyes are not as they follow Hakyeon across the room.

Hakyeon approaches and takes the dagger from him, weighing it in his hand. He finds he likes the heft of it; he’s never been one to bother with weapons, because he could just shapeshift into something fearsome at the slightest hint of danger—and, prior to Jaehwan, that didn’t happen all that often. Now, though, after seeing Jaehwan with his sword… Well, the image has grown on him. “It’s mine,” he replies, figuring that’s the best answer. “I’m quite attached to it, now.”

“I don’t like seeing you with this.” Jaehwan takes the dagger back and flips it over, and his eyes widen when he sees the inscription before he looks up at Hakyeon, an expression not unlike horror on his face. “Really?”

“‘The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance’,” Hakyeon quotes dreamily, trailing his fingers over the cool metal of the blade, feeling very far away. “‘He shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked’.”

Jaehwan just looks at him for a moment before putting the dagger down, reaching to cup Hakyeon’s cheek. When he speaks he sounds so sad he’s almost unrecognisable, and for a moment, Hakyeon startles back to reality. “What have I done to you?” he whispers, and Hakyeon can’t answer.

//

They drive back to Seoul that night.

There’d been an argument. A huge one, in fact. Wonshik had nearly gone purple in the face in trying to protest that it didn’t matter _where_ the ritual happened; in fact, it was better out here, as there were less people around and less stuff to get destroyed if things go awry (and as they’ve all learned, it’s pretty much a guarantee that things will go awry). But Hakyeon yelled right back and said that if he was going to be the one destined to be impaled by Taekwoon he deserved to do it in his hometown, and no one had quite known what to say in response to that.

The others are all in the back—another thing Hakyeon had insisted on, although Wonshik had actually _hissed_ at him—as Jaehwan drives through the night. Hakyeon is curled up against his side, tucked in underneath a wing; he closes his eyes and listens to Jaehwan’s heartbeat and pretends they’re doing something normal, like a road trip. If he doesn’t look up, and he doesn’t think too hard, it’s easy.

These are the lies he tells himself.

They drop Wonshik off at his apartment first, followed by Sanghyuk and Hongbin, and by the time they reach Hakyeon’s apartment he’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open and Jaehwan has to carry him up in the lift. The feel of his own bed, when he falls into it, is so comforting he buries himself under the blankets immediately, nearly drifting off but startling back into awareness when Jaehwan joins him, pulling Hakyeon into the soft circle of his wings.

“How long?” he asks sleepily, burrowing closer. “How many days?”

Jaehwan sighs. “Forty-eight hours. I don’t dare risk it longer than that.”

Forty-eight hours. That’s it. It doesn’t seem like much, but Hakyeon had been ready when Jaehwan had spoken those words in the kitchen. He’s just grateful they get any time at all. “Alright,” he whispers, already falling asleep.

Jaehwan brushes his lips over his forehead and whispers something that Hakyeon doesn’t hear. He’s already gone, content in the wake of his decision, wreathed by the melancholy that chokes him with thoughts of leaving Jaehwan but buoyed with the knowledge that finally, _finally_ , he’s doing the right thing.

It’s time to put an end to all of this, even if he dies trying.

**Author's Note:**

> my heart hurts for what's done and what's to come. that's all i'm gonna say.
> 
> my life is kinda in shambles at the moment—uni's over so that's a positive, but i've fractured my ankle (fell down the stairs not once but twice lmao) and i'm not in the greatest headspace at the moment. maybe that's why this chapter was so sad, idk. i'm also feeling really ??? because we're reaching the end of incubus as we know it. it's not near the end, completely—it's kind of hard to explain without spoilers—but this plot arc will be wrapped up in the next chapter and, considering that's what's been driving the series so far, it's a little scary.
> 
> (okay. very scary.)
> 
> but! incubus won't be finished with the next chapter. i'll explain more when that gets published, but y'all will see what I mean, and I hope you'll stick with me as incubus moves in a different direction c:
> 
> title from 'born on my own' by emigrate


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